After repairing my bookshelf, I unpacked books and found this one:
With a vague memory that Funke had given it to me.
Now I remember she wanted to get together before I moved to Korea the following week. Reading her words, all the love and kindness Funke shared comes rushing back, and I miss her so much.
I wonder if she would be disappointed that I hadn’t yet learned to love myself fully and deeply. I wish she were here to talk to. I miss her.